m. night in shyamalan armor

dedication:
i promised this post weeks ago to my friends, wesley and joanna. i know it's really late but still an accomplishment because it marks the first substantive (???) post since abb's inception.

preface:
all blogs would be a bit better if they were shorter, with quick, almost subliminal exposure, allowing the viewer mindless absorption and almost immediate freedom with which to view the next blog. and since this particular post pertains to a topic about which i can prattle on and on, i thought it best to divide it into separate sections, the following comprising part i...

part i:
i love m. night shyamalan. he is my cinematic hero. he is my m. night in shining armor (tee hee). one time, i even got to sit next to him and his bee-yoo-tee-full wife at a reading at the library! it was magical. m. night is to me what the phillies are to a 700 level fan. i know he will disappoint me again and again but i refuse to give up hope that, by some miracle or long-unanswered prayer, he will pull through and perform in way only a true fan ever imagined.

he's one of the few true visionaries of our time (along with al gore, salman rushdie, thom yorke, and a few others, i guess). i loved the sixth sense. in fact, shamefully, it may have had something to do with the reason i misled myself into signing a lease for a tiny, crummy, stale apartment without any closets and only 2 windows on a semi-ghetto little street called st. albans. i still get chills thinking about the final scene in unbreakable (genius!). of course i saw signs, and although i didn't really understand it, i stood by him. the village redeemed-- no, no, exalted-- him entirely and still stands among one of my top 5 favorite movies ever, in which bdh delivers the performance of a lifetime, which, by a cruel and ironic twist of fate, turned out to bite m. night who recast her as "story" (a daryl hannah wanna-be) in lady in the water, which just flopped completely, which, coming from my position of adoration, says a lot, though, unlike the other 3 people in the movie theater, wesley and i sat through the entire thing-- now that's a true fan (just like my dad sticks it out at citizens bank park when the phils are down 5 runs and their third-string pitcher is looking worn-out at the bottom of the 7th inning. my dad is a trooper and a believer, which are two of the three inherent and essential qualities of fanaticism; the third is delusional).

so, i guess i'm admitting to the same delusions of grandeur in my perception of m. night, which was fine b/c wesley was on the boat with me. but after seeing the happening last week, wesley finally cast himself ashore to join the rest of the forsakers, which has left me to rig, jib, and hoist all alone.

more later, when i have finally recovered from this harsh and desolate reality (and after someone gives me a tutorial on how to post photos from the internet to make this a little less dry of a read)...